Storybook Beginnings
by The Reviews Lounge Too
Summary: Each happy ending is a brand new beginning. A collection of multifandom one-shots celebrating the birth of The Reviews Lounge, Too, written by its forum regulars. R&R!
1. EHWIES: Make Believe

**Make Believe**

Author: -EHWIES

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: James Potter/Dorcas Meadowes

-----

(i)

He's a precocious little tyke, all dolled up in emerald dress robes (to impress her parents, probably, but she's too young to know yet), glasses pushed up to the bridge of his nose. "I'm Jamie," he tells her, sticking out a chubby hand, and she shakes on it as Mummy coos over his manners and Daddy remarks on what a fine husband he'll make for her someday.

Mrs. Potter nods and smiles and says this is the beginning of something beautiful.

They play for a while in the garden under their mummies' watchful eyes, chattering about flowers and magic and what Hogwarts house they'll end up in: Gryffindor for James, Ravenclaw for Dorcas. (He won't let her say Slytherin--he thinks it's too icky and slimy for a girl like her. But Dorcas is up to her knees in soil and has twigs in her hair; James is the one who won't touch the earthworms and still has clean hands by the end of the day.)

And Dorcas wouldn't have believed it at age five or six if you told her who James Potter would grow up to be.

They play for a while in the garden, and then one day they're all-grown-up and aboard the Hogwarts Express. James won't sit in her compartment. He seems to have caught on that Dorcas isn't like him, she's a girl, and girls are--well, Dorcas doesn't know what he thinks about girls, only his new friend Sirius doesn't seem to like them very much, and it's getting to the point by the end of the train ride that James will do whatever Sirius tells him. Her friend is missing, and she begs the Sorting Hat to put him where she can find him, only Meadowes comes before Potter and the Hat seems to think she's best suited for Slytherin after all. Fat chance now.

Then come too many taunts from the so-called Marauders in Potions class and too many nights alone in her common room and too-many-times she hears them calling her Jamie _Jim_. She's a wild child, Dorcas, tousled and badly behaved, but that doesn't mean that things don't _sting_ her. Swearing to put an end to this nonsense someday soon, she sits tight and takes it for the first few weeks and months and years, until she's taunting back and she doesn't know James Potter at all.

Out of the blue, there's a letter. Not for her--she watches from across the Great Hall as James tears it open and reads, his face darkening all the while. He chases her down in the dungeons that night (she's not the one who's hard to find). He chases her down, and his eyes are wild, and he can't keep a straight face when he says, "My mum says I still have to marry you."

"Oh," says Dorcas, tracing circles on the floor. Her eyes are just as wild, but she's somehow still the one who's numb.

"So... I guess this means we have to be friends again," he goes on, fading into nervousness and awkward little smiles.

And Dorcas doesn't have anything to say to that. At least, she's pretty sure James wouldn't understand if she asked him when they stopped and told him she's been looking for him all along.

So they play pretend for a while, dancing around each other in classes but meeting up in the kitchens every night. James isn't nearly as precocious anymore; his talent is famous, pranks legendary. She still doesn't see what he sees in Sirius, and she doesn't think she'll ever understand how Severus Snape could really bad _that_ bad, but they agree that Lily Evans is a pain, at least. Better yet (or worse, in a way), it's not like she's made any Slytherin mates for him to hate. At any rate, it makes things easier. _He_ doesn't have to bend to _her_ life; she just has to bend to his--and Dorcas has always been the more flexible of the two, anyway.

They play pretend, until one day James partners her in Potions and asks her why he can't seem to get it right with Lily. Halfway through criticizing his arrogance, Dorcas cuts off her tirade to say, "You know, Potter, if anyone else were your fiancée, what you're trying to do would probably count as cheating."

She's surprised to see that this wipes the smirk right off his face. "Dora, I... you know I would never... come on, we can hardly stand each other most of the time, I didn't think you'd ever want..." James stammers.

"It's just you who can hardly stand me," Dorcas mumbles. Things are going south fast, though, so she adds, "Show that side of you to Lily more often, and she'll come around."

They both let it go, but she's pretty sure that James blows it with Lily after O.W.L.s on purpose for her.

(ii)

"Why do you hang around Dorcas Meadowes so much, anyway?" Lily asks. She's got her head screwed on straight, Lily does; he'd love that about her if it didn't make him so _uncomfortable_ all the time. Even after a good half-hour of racy snogging, she still manages to make him squirm.

Here it comes: the bomb he never got around to dropping. "That's the thing, Lil, Dora is... well, my parents know her parents, and--"

"God, what is it about you purebloods and your-your-your damn _purity_?" Lily seethes. She's still balanced atop him under the covers of his four-poster, his hand raking up her thigh, but she rolls off and keeps a blanket over her chest. "You gave me rubbish about Sev for five bloody years, and then you turn around and say that Meadowes--that-that _Dora_ is your new best mate because of-of what, her name? Her father's money?"

"I'm not like that!" James roars; then, collecting himself, "You're my best mate; I thought you knew that."

She shakes her head. "I've been competing with Sirius ever since you noticed me," she argues.

It's true, he's ashamed to admit, but it certainly won't help either of them if he were to agree, or to mention that Dora feels a little like a soulmate sometimes. "It's different with Padfoot than it is with you, all right, but just looking at _his_ family relations should tell you what I think of blood purity shit. Dora--"

"Hypocrite," Lily mutters.

"--_They want me to marry her_," says James loudly. That shuts Lily up. "We've known each other since we were kids. They just expect us to... graduate and get married and make little pureblood babies for them..."

Maybe it's his dejected tone that keeps her from getting dressed and leaving right then and there. "Well, you're not going to go through with it, are you?" she says finally, matter-of-factly.

"Why wouldn't I?" Shit, that came out wrong. "I mean--what choice do I have? What else am I going to--?"

"So you're just stringing me along, then?" Lily interrupts, closing herself off to him.

He doesn't know what to tell her. "It's not like we've talked about getting serious or anything."

"This is casual to you?" She's got her skirt straightened before he can protest, and by the time he's thought of a decent argument, she's halfway out the door.

He doesn't see Lily again until breakfast the next day, and she only has two words for him: "We're done."

So James does the natural thing and tracks Dora down, pulls her right out of the Great Hall and into the seclusion of (where else?) the nearest broom cupboard. "Lily broke up with me," he says in a rush, ruffling his hair and running out of breath.

She pulls his hand down, muttering something about how stupid that makes him look, and it only takes him a second to twist his wrist around so they're holding hands. "Potter, what are you--"

"Don't call me that," says James.

"But I--"

Shaking his head, he says, fast, "Don't call me Potter, Dora. This is me, it's James, it's _Jamie_, I-we're Dora and Jamie, we were always..." Dora is wild, but James has Quidditch training under his belt, and he just has to flick his wrist some more to get her pressed up against the wall, barely reaching his shoulders. "What happened to us?" he whispers into her hair.

Dora leans into him--had it occurred to him, he'd have known that he wouldn't scare her off--leans into him and says, "Hogwarts houses and Marauders and pranks," and _oh_, it hurts a hell of a lot less when Dora's the candid one. He breathes her in for a moment, burying his face in her hair. "Why did Lily dump you?"

"I told her about us," sighs James, and he doesn't give her time to register this before saying weakly, "Please marry me?"

(iii)

The ceremony is quiet, like their parents wanted. She doesn't question James's choice of maid of honor (it's not like she has any mates anyway), but she can see from the way Lily's staring at him as Dorcas walks down the aisle that she ought to be worried.

(iv)

Dorcas can't say she's surprised when James brings home divorce papers on their anniversary. Shocked, maybe, but never surprised.

"I just... my parents are dead, yours are in Azkaban, there's no need for us to keep doing this anymore. We're both in the Order, so it's not like there's any principle behind staying together, and... well... it's not that I don't care about you, Dora, you know that."

She doesn't mention that she's seen this coming since they were eleven, or that she's heard the rumor that he's got Lily Evans knocked up. "It's okay. Everyone sane knows that arranged marriages never work. Go get your new beginning," Dorcas says with a smile.

When she kisses him, she doesn't want it to mean goodbye, but he doesn't need to know that, either. Besides, she's gotten pretty good at playing pretend.


	2. Misty McMist Monster: Blood and Books

**Blood and Books, Prelude: Humble Beginnings**

Author: Misty McMist Monster

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: Harry Potter/Hermione Granger

Notes: This story is AU. The author plans to continue it into a full length story on his page.

-----

"Granger!" A voice shouted from the other side of the door, startling the mouse haired teenage girl who sat reading on a lone stool inside. The girl -- Hermione was her name-- jumped from the stool as her head snapped up, the color draining from her face. She'd left the front unattended…again. Quickly, she slammed the aged tome she was holding shut, wincing slightly as she did (she hated being rough with her books, but had no alternative), before darting quickly to the cabinet on the far side of the room she was in.

She slipped the tome behind an empty bottle of brandy she used to hide the book with just in time for the back door of the tavern to slam open—it's hinges squealing in protest.

"Granger! There you are!" The local barkeep, a grizzled old man that went by the name of "Moody" stepped through the door, his only remaining eye zeroing in on Hermione, pate covered in sweat from the heat of the grill, apron covered in either blood from the food, or wine from the drinks, "Dammit girl, I've got twenty customers dying of thirst and hunger, a load of dishes to be washed, and a missing barmaid! Any idea what I could do about that problem?"

"Er, sorry sir. I—I was jus—" Hermione started but Moody cut her off with a slash of his hand, " Bah! You were slacking off again is what! Don't lie to me girl, you know better." His wizened eye trailed over the now blushing girl. Finally, he stepped all the way into the room, letting the door he was holding swing shut. When he spoke next, his voice was softer, tender, "Hermione, I know you want to go. I know you want to study. But dammit girl, you've got to prioritize your life! You've got to think realistically here!" He said, and Hermione's heart sank. She knew this conversation, had had it time and time again with her father since she first decided that she wanted to leave the village of Pivot, and head for the big city, maybe even Hogwarts.

That had been when she was just six years old, and had barely been able to hold a book upright, much less understand what she was reading. She was seventeen now, well past marrying age, and still her ambition had never changed. Hogwarts was where she wanted to go.

Moody sighed, watching her face as she relived the age-old conversation, before shaking his head and sticking his hand out, " The book, Granger."

"B—but sir, I—" She stuttered frantically, but the look in his eye quelled all resistance. Hanging her head as she fidgeted the end of her apron with her hands, she turned back to the cabinet and retrieved the tome. It was an old spell book, one her Father had given her two years ago on her birthday. She'd treasured it ever since, even if the runes in it were slightly beyond her.

She could feel the tears forming at the of her eyes corners, but refused to shed them, refused to show any sign of weakness. Stubbornly, she lifted her chin as she handed the book over, trying to look as strong as possible. Moody only smiled slightly, (a rather frightening thing given the number of scars contorting his face) taking the book firmly in his hand as he nodded. " I'll give it back after your shift tonight Granger. Promise." With that, he turned and strode out of the storage room and back to the tavern itself. Hermione could hear his loud voice booming as he greeted visitors and the like over the din of the patrons.

Gathering herself back together, she shook her head, brushing lightly at her eyes. It wouldn't be long before her shift was over, and then she'd get her father's book back. Moody would be good to his word, she knew. Stepping up to the door, she took one last deep breath of fresh air, before stepping back into the permanent haze of pipe smoke that permeated the establishment.

The night dragged on as Hermione darted between the tables, carrying drinks and food to and fro. Every twenty or so minutes, she would have to stop long enough to clean out the dishes for the next bit of food. Moody's Tavern, the Headless Hippogriff, was the only tavern for miles, and was therefore the main hub of entertainment, food, or anything else for the entirety of the village of Pivot. People came and went constantly, and while normally nearly ten different servers manned the Hippogriff, barmaids and keeps-- tonight was different. Two of the barmaids were expecting, and their husbands, the barkeeps, had refused to leave their side. Another had been killed two days before when he went to restock the wood for his family's house.

Or at least, it was believed he was killed. No one knew what happened when someone was dragged off into the Dark Forest. Two more had taken ill, and been confined to their houses. As for the final one, Lavender, she had been fired after being caught whoring about.

For the tenth time.

Which left Hermione and the owner stuck with the monumental task of manning the entire establishment, alone. Normally, Hermione would have at least a few minutes to sneak off to the back room and steal a few precious minutes gazing over her tome, trying to decipher the runes, but tonight was not that night—especially now.

Thankfully though, the night had proved a slow one, with very little of interest happening. That said though, there were two new faces in the tavern, both cowled from head to toe, though one currently had his cowl thrown back, his flaming red hair spilling about his face haphazardly. His blue eyes shined mischievously when he caught sight of Hermione nearing their table, and he leaned back from his conversation with his companion to smile up at Hermione.

" Good evening, mi lady." He said in a lazy, rumbling voice, nodding to her.

"My lords." She said with a slight courtesy. Though she hated the maid's outfit she was required to wear for work, it did have the effect of seemingly being able to catch the attention of any male. She looked back up, a small smile on her face as her eyes met the redheads, and found herself doing something wholly uncharacteristic—blushing. "I—is there anything I can get for you, my lords?" She said after a moment, breaking the charm of the man's dazzling eyes by directing her attention to his companion.

He remained leaned forward, his cowl drawn down, and Hermione could see nothing of him save a sliver of one pale hand. It bore a gem on it, one of crimson red inlaid in a gold setting of two gryphons. For some reason, the setting seemed strangely familiar to Hermione, though she couldn't place where from for the life of her. The redhead spoke up then, disturbing her examination of the cowled man, " Two fire-wines, mi Lady, and keep 'em coming. We'll be here awhile, so if I might ask, do you have any beddings available?"

Hermione knew it was a perfectly reasonable question, nothing special to it. Yet, for whatever reason it was, something about what he asked drew yet another blush to her cheeks. Perhaps it was the curve of his soft lips, or the dimples that accented his smile. The life and vibrancy she saw in his eyes. "U-um, I can c-check for you, sir."

He smiled again, begging for the devil, and nodded, " Thank you, my kind lady. Perhaps I'm being too bold, but might I have a name to put with such a beautiful face?"

"H-h-hermione, mi Lord." She whispered breathlessly, then turned and darted away from the table. She took a few minutes to catch her breath back at the bar, where Moody simply shook his head at her. He set up the drinks for her, then said to inform the two that bedding was available—for two sickles more than he usually charged per night.

"Don't go lettin' him mess with your head girl, it's not worth it." Moody stated firmly to her when he handed her the drink tray. She nodded, and then made her way back to the table with the gorgeous redhead.

He smiled again the moment he saw her, and stood to take the drinks from her, but she insisted that she place them on the table. After retaking his seat, she informed the pair of the cost of a nights room. "Hmm…" he said as he scratched at the day's growth on his chin, " Seems a bit much, but I suppose it'll be worth it if I can see such a fine lass every mornin'."

Again Hermione blushed, until there was a dull thwack from _under_ the table, and the redhead yelped in pain, " Ow—dammit man! Do ya havtta' spoil mah' fun like tha'?!" He growled, his voice suddenly taking on a distinct accent. When his voice did that, there was a slight pop, then a ringing in Hermione's ears, leaving her suddenly very woozy. She turned and started away from the table, _needing_ to be away from the redhead.

It was then that the doors burst open, and a group of nearly twenty men overtook the patrons of the tavern. One in particular, a man with flowing red robes, a bare fuzz of hair on top of his head and a day's growth of beard covering his strong jaw, stepped to the front. He spoke in a deep, rumbling voice that carried about the small tavern.

"Greetings, friends. I am sir Krum, Knight-commander of our Lord Voldemort. My men and I seek shelter here tonight, and _request_ kindly the use of several of your tables, as well as your mead and food. Do you comply?" He snarled the last words cruelly, letting it be known that his was _not_ a request but a demand, and he would brook no interference. And even if he hadn't, dropping a name like Lord Voldemort meant you had almost unlimited power. Voldemort, King of the Neatherlands, an area spanning the entire southern half of the continent, was a vicious ruler, gaining his crown through usurpitation and war.

Now, anyone and everyone feared him, and knew not to trifle with his men. Therefore, in a matter of moments, _every_ table in the bar was emptied, save the redhead and his silent companion's. At first, Hermione feared this might cause a problem, but the knight-commander and his men took no note of the two shady characters.

Quickly, Hermione and Moody went about taking care of their patrons, the tavern now dead silent due to the lack of people. Even the pipe smoke seemed to have started to abate when the soldiers began to get… rowdy.

Within minutes they grew to a loud and obnoxious bunch, and it wasn't long until their Knight-commander joined in the fun. "Wench!" He called, and Hermione gritted her teeth at the name, but attended to him none-the-less.

" You called, mi Lord?" She said in a cold, passionless voice.

He smiled up at her, his eyes dilated from too much alcohol, his breath vile, "Aye wench, I did. Are you perhaps in charge of the bedding?" He said in a low, husky voice, and Hermione's face started to flush. The nerve of him! "N—no sir, I'm no—"

"Well why not?! Come now wench, surely you've been with a man before?" When she didn't respond, repulsed by his words and what he was suggesting, his smile grew infinitely, " No? Do we have a wee flower in our midst boys? Will ya look at that!" He roared, and the men answered him, several cheering him on as he stood. When he did, Hermione became startlingly aware of just how _massive_ he was, the size of his shoulders alone nearly twice that of her own.

"I—I'm sorry sir, but no! I—I don't do that!" She said, backing away as quickly as possible. He didn't seem to care though, advancing on her at a enormous, lumbering pace. When he reached for her, Moody shouted, but was quelled by two of the knight's men who had drawn swords. He grabbed hold of Hermione, who struggled frantically to be free.

"Come now wench, I promise you'll en—" He didn't even finish the sentence when a sense of anger, rage, and hatred stronger then anything she'd ever felt before roiled up inside her. She lashed out, slapping him solidly across the cheek and driving him back against one of the tables.

Silence hung over the entire bar at this, until he turned back to her, eyes aflame with rage, " You whore!" He roared before lunging at her, "How dare you disgra—" again, before he could even finish the sentence, he was interrupted. This time though, it was the cloaked figure, his hand solidly gripping the Knight-commander's wrist.

"Don't touch her." He whispered in a voice so cold and wrathful that even from where Hermione stood against the counter, she felt a shiver run down her spine. This was a man you did _not_ want to mess with. And yet, he was defending her.

The knight-commander snarled and turned, lashing out with his free hand at the hooded man. For a moment, Hermione thought the blow would take the stranger's head from his shoulders, but he simply ducked under it and drove his palm into the belly of the Knight-commander.

Blood suddenly tore from the knight-commanders mouth, before he slumped to the ground, "Fool." The stranger said with a shake of his head, then turned to the men, " He's only unconscious. Take him back to your camp, and we'll forget this ever happened."

Those assembled though, had _no_ intention of doing so, as more then twenty swords around the tavern were drawn, chairs screeching against the wood floors.

And then, all hell broke loose.

The first two soldiers lunged at the stranger, yet they were met with only air, the cloaked figure slipping around them easily. He struck out with a booted foot, catching one of the soldiers around the ankle, tripping him in such a way that he went face first into the floorboards. The second soldier whirled about at the hooded man, lashing out with his sword as he went, but again he missed, the cowled man dipping backwards and letting the blade pass cleanly over his face.

Catching himself on a chair, the stranger pushed himself back up and used the tripped soldier as a spring board, rolling over his back before delivering a swift roundhouse to the other soldier's stomach. There was a scream then, the second soldier went flying back into the bar of the tavern, his head cracking solidly against the wood before he slumped to the ground.

Hermione's eyes tracked each movement, enraptured by the man's movements. So when his cowl fell back after sending the soldier into the bar, Hermione found herself gasping in shock. His eyes darted to hers then, locking them together for several eternal moments. The moment it happened, she felt a lifetime played out before her. Pains, pleasures, trust and betrayal. His was a bloody tale, and Hermione found herself drawn to him.

And where the redhead had been beautiful, this man outshone him on every level. Strong of jaw and cold of eye, he had the look of a warrior about him, from the scar that started from the fringe of his hairline down over his left eye to end in a jagged bolt near his jaw, to the hitch in his nose where it had obviously been broken once upon a time. He wore a light peppering of a mustache about his face, and his hair had grown unruly, giving his features an ominous, wild look.

Yet for all the danger she saw in him, there were other things, subtle hints. The softness of his full lips, lips that promised to drown one in glorious bliss for hours, to the hints of gold that flecked his emerald eyes. His eyes shown with a knowledge far beyond the years of his body, and something told her that he had seen his share of pains.

And then the next soldier lunged at him, breaking the moment. Quickly, Hermione backpedaled as the men fought the emerald eyed man, his movements once again flowing about them as easily as water through a trough. Yet, Hermione knew he couldn't take on all of the soldiers alone. Her eyes darted back to the redhead, seeking salvation.

She found a lazy bum, his feet up on the table, hands behind his head as he dozed off. She bolted to his side, screaming for him to wake up, "What, what is it ya need, lassie?!"

"Your _friend_ is in _danger_! Or didn't you notice the fight?!" She screeched, yet the redhead only cleaned one ear lazily.

"Yer point, lass?" He looked past her then, " Far as I canna see it, he's fine." a random bottle of mead then flew towards him, and the redhead ducked under it, letting it shatter against the wall before shouting back, " Oy! Dammit, Lad, I saw that! Ya threw that, ya bastard!"

She stared down at the man, unbelieving what she was seeing and hearing. And to think, she'd found him intriguing not five minutes before! Frustrated and out of options, she turned and grabbed up a bottle of Fire Wine from the table, "Oy!" the red head said, but she paid him no attention, focusing on one of the soldiers.

His entire focus was on Emerald eyes, so he never saw the bottle coming until it crashed across the front of his face with enough force to snap his head back as though it'd been on a sling. He rocketed backwards, crashing into one of the tables-- just in time for the local garrison to walk through the doors.

All movement stopped dead in it's tracks as nearly twenty men, dressed in full battle armor, stepped into the disfigured tavern. Less than four of the men were left standing now, and emerald eyes had been mussed only enough to split his lip and rip some of his clothes. The garrison commander glared at all those present before asking, " What happened?"

Hermione was about to inform him _exactly _what had happened, but emerald eyes spoke up first. "These bastards ruined my evening. I figured I'd repay the favor."

She shot a stunned look at him, before shaking her head, "Excuse me, sir, but n--" yet suddenly, she found her words gone, her voice muted. She struggled to speak, willing her voice to work, yet found nothing.

The commander turned to her, watching her curiously before shaking his head, "Very well, will you come with us?" Again, emerald eye nodded, then shot a meaningful look at the redhead. Hermione's gaze followed his, and she found the redhead's blue eyes locked on her-- only his eyes were gold now. Suddenly, she understood what was happening, and wanted to strangle both men for their pigheadedness.

They were protecting her and her honor, even when she didn't ask for it, didn't want it. If it was brought out that then Knight Commander had taken a fancy to her, given her current state as a spinster, she would be forced legally to _go_ with the man. Yet she would not let any foul cretin lay his hands on her, Knight Commander or not.

The commander then turned to his men, " Escort these soldiers to their camp. Get them out of my town. And you!" He said, turning to Hermione as the men went about their duties, emerald eyes being marched out by the Garrison soldiers, " I expect better from the Headless Hippogriff. So that you don't have to deal with reprisal later, you will supply the soldiers with food on the 'marrow. Do I make myself clear?"

Much as Hermione hated the idea, she knew the commander was right. The Hippogriff was going to have enough trouble repairing the damage, they didn't need the soldiers coming back and making more of a mess. She nodded in agreement, and was soon left to stand in a near silent tavern, Moody sitting behind the counter with a flask in hand, and a roaring fireplace the only sounds.

"And to all... a good night." The redhead mused absently from his table in the corner, then passed out.

The next day Hermione awoke to the horrid hacking of her father's cough. Though she was still rather sleepy, she pulled herself from her bed and pulled on a dress-gown to cover herself while she went to check on her father. He'd taken ill for the last few months, and his condition showed no sign of improving. Thus, Hermione had been forced to seek out a means of living for both of them, and had shortly come to work at the Headless Hippogriff.

Being the daughter of a pauper, and worse, a spinster, made life for Hermione incredibly hard, yet she did what she had to, and survived. She took the time to see to her father, making sure he was well enough for her to leave, then bathed and changed into a warm dress before stopping in at the Hippogriff, where Moody was just coming down stairs from checking on their newest tenant, "Ronald".

"Bastards still out cold, looks to be that way for several more hours." Moody reported, and Hermione just growled. She had the sudden urge to bludgen his head for his actions the night before, but quelled them. He'd done it for good reason. _Reason has nothing to do with justice._ She fired off mentally, before her own mind retorted, _and where's the justice in you lying dead in a ditch, or worse?_

She sighed, disgusted with the whole situation, and pushing it to the side, " Can I get the provisions? I figured I'd walk it out to those sick cods."

Moody nodded, then stepped into the back room for several moments, gathering things together before bringing out two sackfuls. "This should last them through the day. Oh and before I forget." He said, setting the sacks before her then rushing behind the counter. After a minute or two, he came back around, Hermione's Tome in hand. He smiled, then handed it to her, " For the trip, and for all your hard work Hermione."

She glanced at him quizzically, but he simply smiled then turned back to the bar itself. Yet she hadn't missed the knowing look in his eye. Something was up, he just wasn't saying what. Slipping the book into her own bag, she took the sacks and headed out to the edge of the eastern forest, where it had quickly become known that the soldiers had set up camp.

Once there, she became increasingly aware of just how large the camp was, a terrifying realization striking her in that less then a forth of the men present had shown up the night before. Still, their size didn't matter, she was here for one thing. As she neared what she assumed were the gates, (given the soldiers that stood guard there) a call went out. Soon, the quartermaster greeted her, thanking her for the food before quickly, (and rather rudely) sending her on her way.

Irritated at the treatment, she stormed back to the town and had almost made it back to her house when she caught sight of two soldiers, milling through the streets. Something about them set off every bit of common sense Hermione had, and she found herself ducking into an alley to avoid them. They passed her by none the wiser, laughing and talking back and forth as they stopped at random intervals.

"So you hear about the Knight Commander?" One of the two said, to which he was answered with a guffaw and a shaking of his head by the second one, " Of course."

"Can you believe just how furious he was?" The first said, again answered by a chuckle.

"I would be too, dishonored like that." Said the second, " And hell, by a peasant no less."

"If it were me, I'd have them both executed." The first mused, but then was countered, " But didn't you hear? The Knight commanders planning _to_ execute that knight guy, Harry I think his name was. And get this he was a Griff!"

"What?! No way!"

"Oh, aye. Right bastards really gonna get it now. Their lookin for the girl too though, ya know? Guess that means we better move fast, I hear she was a right pretty one."

"Hmm... You thinkin' what I am?" The first said with a knowing tone, and they both smiled to each other. Turning, they both started off down the road, leaving Hermione standing stunned where she was. Harry. His name was Harry. Though a part of her wanted to follow the soldiers to see what else she could learn, she knew she had to warn Harry's friend Ronald, and maybe see what could be done to save him. Turning, she darted down the street in the opposite direction.

If only she'd stayed with the soldiers a minute or two longer, she would have saved the entire village from the coming trials.


	3. PrincessPearl: After Bloodshed

**After Bloodshed  
**

Author: PrincessPearl

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: Post Wizardry War

-----

It had been two weeks since he'd talked to her. Two weeks since he'd won the war, two weeks since Voldemort died, and two weeks since she'd talked to him.

And she couldn't stand it. She also couldn't stand the fact that she couldn't stand it, because honestly, she had survived a full year without even any knowledge of his wherabouts, and in the midst of her brother's death and funeral arrangements and award ceremonies and cleaning up the school, her ex-boyfriend should be the least of her worries.

Yet, he wasn't. That was probably why she jumped up and nearly tackle-hugged the life out of Harry Potter when he finally approached her one breezy day near the Great Lake, a hesitant and somewhat scared look on his face, as if he was afraid she was going to Bat-Bogey him.

(Truth be told, it had crossed her mind to do just that, but she decided against it, partly because he looked so adorable when he was nervous, and partly because she had missed him more than she let on).

"Hi," he said, looking dizzy when she released him. "How are you?"

Ginny took the wonderful opportunity to smack him. "What kind of a question is _that_?" she demanded, all her righteous anger from the past year flooding back.

Harry winced. "Um, sorry. Just…y'know, making conversation."

She sighed, wishing she weren't crazy in love with him so she could be properly mad. "It's all right. What are you doing here?"

"Taking a break." Harry offered her a half-smile. "I've been wanting to talk to you in private, but you were never alone."

Ginny gestured around them at the mostly-empty grounds. There were a few stragglers here and there, but none within hearing distance. "Well, I'm alone now. What did you want to talk about?"

Harry shrugged, sitting down cross-legged on the dewy grass. "Life. Death. Us."

"Hm," she said, mimicking his pose. "All right, then. You wanna go through that list one by one?"

She hid a smile when he looked flustered. "No, I just…I wanted…that's not what—oh, forget it."

Harry angled his head. Ginny gasped, then sighed against his lips as he kissed her, slowly and sweetly, as if they had all the time in the world. Stars and fireworks and all the cliché romantic imagery in the world seemed to dance before her eyes, and her stomach felt like a breeding ground for dancing butterflies. This was ten times better than their first kiss, because now, Voldemort (and the rest of the Gryffindor House) wasn't there to ruin the moment. It was just them, two teenagers hopelessly in love, making out on the shore of a not-so-picturesque lake.

"So, um," she began when they parted, her voice breathless. "What were you saying?"

Harry smiled and leaned his forehead against hers. "I was saying that I am totally and completely in love with you, Ginny Weasley. What were _you_ saying?"

It was rather hard to concentrate on forming coherent sentences when his lips continually managed to find hers again, but she eventually managed to say, "That, uh, we should really look into doing this more often, without taking year-long breaks in between."

Harry laughed. Somehow, it was the best sound in the world. "Yes," he grinned. "Yes, we should."

_Maybe,_ Ginny thought dazedly, several hours (or maybe minutes; she wasn't really keeping track of time) later as she lay, half-asleep, in his arms, _wars don't _only_ bring destruction. Sometimes, they bring something much, much better._

_New beginnings, for instance. And the typical 'love conquers all' message, of course. Wouldn't be a fairytale ending without it._

_

* * *

  
_

"I thought I'd find you here."

The voice, while familiar, still made Hannah Abbot jump up, startled, and whirl around to find herself face-to-face with Neville Longbottom, who stood leaning against the doorway into the armory.

"Oh, hi, Neville," she said, hands fluttering nervously. She didn't particularly want company at the moment, especially not company that made her cheeks heat up like they were doing.

He'd had better days, she reflected ruefully as he stepped forward, because Neville no longer carried his war bravado. Firelight made his scars glow blood-red, highlighting them into prominence on his delibrately-guarded face.

"Hello, Hannah," he said quietly, leaning on Gryffindor's sword as he walked. He favored his left side, and she just realized he had a limp, most likely from a nasty fall rather than a nasty curse. "It's breakfast time, you know. You should come eat something."

She shook her head, making her tangled, blond locks obscure her face. "I'm not hungry."

Neville muttered a few words that had her eyes widening because it was so unlike her once-shy friend to be so…colorful. "Damn it, Hannah," he sighed. "You've barely eaten in the past two weeks, and I'm not the only one who's noticed! Susan and Ernie and Jus—"

He stopped talking, eyes wide, but not soon enough. Hannah turned her head away, renewed tears stinging at her eyes. _Justin_. One of her best friends in the world, dead. Long-dead, in fact, but that didn't make the wounds from his loss hurt any less. He was _gone_. Forever, with just six short syllables that had ended his life.

Two warm arms circled her body, hugging her close. "Merlin, I'm sorry, Hannah," Neville whispered into her hair. "I didn't mean to—it just slipped, I swear—"

"It's fine, Neville," Hannah said, blushing at his close proximity and gently disentangling herself from his arms. "Don't worry about it."

He looked stricken. "I can't _not_ worry about you, Hannah. What kind of friend would I be if I just let you sit here?"

Hannah huffed. "A smart friend?" she suggested.

Neville cracked a smile. "Maybe, but not a _good_ one."

He walked closer, until they were about two inches apart. "Hannah, listen to me. We'll get through this, all right? We all will. Because we're the heroes. We've survived this far, and we'll continue surviving, in honor of everyone we lost. We'll live the lives they never got to lead. For them, for Justin, for everyone—don't give up, okay? We'll make it through the funerals and the mourning and the memories. Do you believe me?"

Looking up into his battle-worn, darkened brown eyes, Hannah nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said softly. "I do."

"Good." Something flickered in his eyes, and for one split second, she thought he might just lean down and kiss her, but he stopped at the last moment, smiling shyly at her.

"Each happy ending's a brand new beginning, no?" she murmured, pulling one of her mother's favorite quotes out of the mess of memories in her head.

Neville chuckled and hugged her warmly. "Exactly. Now, come on. There's a plate of pancakes in the Great Hall with your name on them."

He should have known she'd find him eventually. She always did. He could never hide from her for long.

* * *

"Hey," Katie greeted, entering his old bedroom at the Burrow and quietly closing the door behind her.

George looked up at her, face blank, and he could tell his lack of emotions startled her. "Leave," he said flatly. That tone of voice had gotten even his mother and Ginny to leave him alone, but there was no chance it would work on Katie. She simply folded her arms and leveled a glare at him that, under any other circumstances, would have him begging for mercy.

But then, these weren't any other circumstances.

"No," she retorted, and walked forward. "Now tell me—how many cliché speeches have you heard so far?"

He snorted. "Countless. 'He wouldn't want you to be so sad, George'. 'You have a family that loves you, remember?'. 'Don't shut everyone out, you idiot'. Everything that can be said has been. You can't possibly add anything new."

Her eyes gleamed, and right away, he knew challenging her was a bad idea.

"How about this? After I'm through talking to you, George Weasley, I'm going to go back to my apartment and cry myself to sleep because one of my best friends is _dead_ and I miss him like crazy and I don't really care what he would want for me, because I'm too busy wrapped up in my own little world to notice that everyone I love is worried sick about me."

He was on his feet in an instant. "Shut up, Katie!" he snarled, towering over her and making her step back. "You don't know—you don't understand—you haven't lost your _twin_!"

"So?" she shot back. "Does the fact that Fred wasn't my twin make my pain any less important than yours, George? They're the exact same emotions—sadness, anger, frustration. What's the difference?"

"He was my _brother_!" George said through gritted teeth. "Not yours! You can't possibly understand—"

"What it's like to lose a brother?" Katie asked softly. The haunted look in her eyes gave him pause. He racked his brains for a moment before it hit him—she _had_ lost a brother. Her younger brother and both her parents had been murdered late last year by Death Eaters. She had barely escaped with her life, and she still had the brace on her leg to prove it.

"Oh, Merlin," he breathed, eyes wide. "Katie, I'm sorry. I didn't remember—"

"I wasn't expecting you to," she mumured, walking closer, but her words didn't lessen his guilt. She half-smiled and he had to choke down a sob.

"So," he said resignedly. "How much of a jerk have I been acting like lately?"

"You haven't," she said firmly, touching his shoulder. For once, he didn't pull back. "This is perfectly natural, George. We've all lapsed into this phase at least once over the past year, not talking to anybody because we've lost someone important to us. It's hardly new, and I don't blame you for it. I've been through it, and so have Angelina and Alicia and Lee and most likely your entire family."

Katie shook her head, making her dark ponytail bounce. "War ruins us all. But nothing is forever, not even grief. I miss Fred and I miss my family, but I'm not going to waste my life crying over them. I'm going to stand tall and live like they would have wanted me to. I'm going to go out there and make my dreams come true, so that when I see them again, I'll know that I've made them proud."

Her logic was tempting, George had to admit. And as she stepped forward to hug him, he decided that he would take her advice, because it was what Fred wanted, what his friends and family wanted, and, most of all, what _he _wanted.

"Can I get one more day of crying?" he whispered in her ear.

Katie laughed. "As many as you want, as long as you promise me that you'll come back to us soon."

He tightened his hold on her. "I promise. Thanks for helping."

"No problem," she grinned up at him. "After all, friends are there through everything. Thick and thin, hell and high water, endings and new beginnings."

* * *

Silk dress, heels, jewelry, ballroom dancing underneath a brightly-lit ceiling—Lavender Brown felt like she was living a fairytale she had no business being a part of.

This was all so picturesque and perfect and _wrong,_ and she didn't belong here, not at this party with it's neon lights and exotic foods and sophisticated guests who'd probably never watched their best friend be murdered right int front of them. Maybe, once, she would fit in here, but that time was long gone, back before she had seen the horrors of war, before she'd been scarred by a werewolf, before Parvati had died.

"Daddy, I'm not feeling so hot," she told her father under the cover of blinding lights and wild dancing. "I'm gonna go home, okay?"

"Be safe, sweetheart," Mr. Brown said absently, and returned to his conversation with another stuffy businessman.

Lavender sighed, retrieved her bubblegum-pink hoodie—it'd been a gift from Parvati, just two years ago—and pulled it on over her too-fancy, too-bright blue dress. Grabbing her purse and dumping her soda out in the trash, she walked out of the party and Apparated.

She ended up at an abandoned park near Hogsmeade, all her body parts thankfully still attached. It was late afternoon, and there were a fair few people crowding the streets, but the park was all but deserted, which suited her just fine. Finding a leafy lemon tree, she collapsed in it's shade, curling up into a ball and closing her eyes, wishing that, for once, she wouldn't have nightmares.

"Lavender?" asked a somewhat familiar voice quietly, waking her up from her not-so-deep slumber. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

Her blue eyes fluttered open hazily and the figure of a wizard her own age slowly came into focus. Thick, wavy brown hair, sleek, dark blue glasses, hazel eyes, proudly wearing a scarf in Ravenclaw colors…

"Oh, hi, Terry," she said in recognition. "What are you doing here?"

Terry Boot adjusted his glasses and raised an eyebrow at her. "Um, I kind of live here, Lavender," he said, sounding amused. When her confusion no doubt showed on her face, he jerked a thumb behind him at the rows of houses that, she knew, were home to Hogsmeade shop owners and a few of the Hogwarts staff.

"My parents run the bakery, remember?" he added. "Well, I suppose you don't remember. You were always too busy flirting with Seamus."

Coming from anyone else, she would have been indignant, but Terry grinned charmingly at her, a clear indication that he was teasing, and she relaxed, realizing that she didn't have the energy to pick a fight anyway, Gryffindor recklessness be damned.

"Shut up," she muttered instead and tried to stand up, only to fall back down because both her legs had fallen asleep with her. "What time is it?"

"About five-thirty," Terry answered, kneeling besides her. "What were you doing sleeping here, Lavender? Any random Death Eater could have come by and kidnapped you."

"But they didn't," she pointed out, smiling innocently at him. "Unless you're hiding something."

He snorted. "No, lucky for you. Come on. As long as you're not drunk or anything, you need to get back home."

Lavender sighed. "I don't really feel like going back home, Terry," she murmured.

"Well, do you have any other place to go to?" he asked, sounding skeptical.

Normally, she would have told him that yes, she had a standing invitation to the Patils' house, but today, the words died in her throat. Parvati was _dead_, and her family was grieving, and there was no way she was ever stepping foot in the Patils' house again. No use plaguing herself with memories and tears and nightmares.

Terry must have noticed the tears she was blinking away, because he took her arm and gently guided her up. "Come on, Lavender," he said, his voice soft. "You can crash at my place for the night. I'm sure my parents won't mind. They've been letting my friends sleep over since…well, for a while, now."

Lavender gulped down her sobs, feeling like a silly, pathetic little girl, but she couldn't help it. "I—Terry, I miss her," she confessed, though it was hardly a surprise.

"I know," Terry murmured, wrapping one arm around her shoulders to steady her as she walked. "We all miss her, Lav, her and everyone else who died. But you know as well as I do that they wouldn't want us to stop living and just, I don't know, sleep under trees for the rest of our lives." He nudged her, grinning, surprising a giggle out of her. "You've got to live, Lavender. You don't have to go to parties every day with your parents or anything, but you need to _live_. For Parvati, and for everyone else."

He coughed, a light blush on his cheeks, as he glanced away from her, apparently embarrassed by his small speech.

Lavender smiled up at him, feeling something warm unfurl in her chest that hadn't been there since she and Seamus broke up. "Thanks, Terry," she said softly, and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, no matter how very cliché that seemed.

His cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. "Um, no problem. Let's, uh, get you to my place and…well, let's start over."

Terry grinned down at her with dimples and a blush and blue glasses, and she had to laugh.

"Yes," Lavender said, closer to happiness than she had been in a while. "Let's start over."


	4. Astrea Severin Orion Black: I Feel You

**I Feel You  
**

Author: Astrea Severin Orion Black

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: Dominique Weasley

-----

**October**

She could never understand what made him start looking. Without conscious thought, her eyes would stray to him, as if feeling his hard, dark grey stare at her back. Their eyes would meet and a surge would flow through her entire body.

He was looking at her. Why? She couldn't be too sure. Had he always been looking in her direction, his eyes unashamed when she caught him, his eyes ne'er wavering? She'd turn away, a blush creeping up her rosy, freckled face.

It was 2019, Gryffindors and Slytherins got along better. But, a Slytherin _never _looked at a Weasley the way Miles Pucey gazed upon Dominique. It was…unheard of. A myth of an idea by the standards of Hogwarts; yet, there he was, standing near the front of the library, staring at her.

Dominique ran a hand through her short silvery-blonde hair and tried with all her might to pay attention to her homework. A moment passed and there was a dull thud as books fell onto a table and a soft _swish_ of clothe. She raised her eyes slowly.

He stood there, just across the table, watching her quietly. "May I?" he said in his smooth, strangely formal speech.

There were plenty of places to sit. A group of Slytherin girls had even opened up a space and were glaring daggers at Dominique. Even so, Dominique nodded and Miles pulled out a chair. He sat and without further ado, began his work.

She could not help but take him in. By sitting at her table, he was only asking for it. Was that the idea? If so, it was working immensely. Her gaze swept over him, hungrily taking in his handsome features: his soft-looking black hair, the sharp contours of his face, his broad chest and shoulders that fit so perfectly into his robes.

Their eyes met- narrow, shrewd dark grey to wide sky blue. She glanced quickly back at the formulas and charts scribbled onto her paper and clenched her hands together under the table. She had the urge to shiver.

Picking up her quill, Dominique again tried to do what she had come here to do. All the time, she could feel his stare. His right hand turned the pages of his book and his left scribbled scratchy words onto his parchment, but those eyes bored into Dominique.

**November**

"He's flirting with you." Emily Tatting, Dominique's best friend, licked a lollipop as she and Dominique made their way back to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade. Emily ran a hand expertly over her auburn tresses, an old habit.

"Weird way to flirt with someone," said Dominique. A chill wind whipped her hair about like threads of yarn. The day was a dreary winter grey and the sky resembled…Dominique shook herself and her face became warm despite the below freezing temperatures.

"I think it's sweet," prattled Emily. "I mean, he's not like other guys. _Other _guys would use cheap one-liners and act like dogs. They can never be that subtle. It's all about the action. Pucey really knows how to work it cool, like he's on the _prowl._" She growled lowly and giggled. "And, come on, how many boyfriends have you had, Domie? We're sixth-years, girly! Let loose and give him a chance. He's a seventh-year and there won't be any 'after summers' for him."

"I know," said Dominique.

Emily snorted. "Yeah, okay. Have you been talking to him?"

"A little bit," murmured Dominique. Emily turned an inquisitive eye toward her. "It's just about schoolwork, nothing serious."

"Domie's taking it _slow_," giggled Emily.

"Taking what slow? There's nothing to take slow." Dominique drew her cloak around her more tightly and kept walking.

"Oh, don't be like that," said Emily, looking upset. "I was just joking. And, anyway, you know as well as I do, you are _so _attracted to him."

She _was_ attracted to him. So much so that it bothered her a little. No one had ever made her feel the way he was making her feel. Just thinking about him made Dominique shiver in delight. She couldn't stop her mind from reintroducing the way she felt when his alluring eyes looked at her, unwavering even under her scrutiny.

"_Do I have something on my face?" Dominique asked._

"_Not at all," tittered Miles quietly, his thin lips curving upward in a smirk. _

***

A dense swarm of Ravenclaws rushed from the stadium, screeching in euphoria. They'd won the first Quidditch match of the year, beating Slytherin by ten points. It was only ten points, but after being brutally throttled the entire game by the merciless snakes, it felt like a million.

Dominique watched from the stands, not willing to try and make it in and out of that crowd alive. The Slytherin team was slinking back to the dressing room, trying to ignore the angry hisses they received from their housemates. She saw him detach himself from the others and trudge across the pitch, toward the lake.

Miles was the Captain. It was only common sense that the Captain would be upset. Dominique frowned. She'd been rooting for Ravenclaw, but…from here, she could see the defeated, saddened expression on his face. She got up and left the stands, trying not to crash into any of the ecstatic partygoers making their way to the castle.

She strode toward the tree-lined path that led to the Black Lake. The naked trees reached their finger-like branches to the monochromatic sky, as though reaching for that grey blanket to cover themselves. All was quiet, as silent as death itself, except Dominique's steady breath. Before she even reached the end of the path, she could see him.

He was crouched beside the lake, his broom at his side. His broad shoulders were slouched and he was shaking. Was he crying? Dominique tiptoed up to him, standing just a foot away. What to say? What could she say to him that would not be awkward or half-hearted? She need not have even worried. Miles suddenly stood and whipped around in a flurry of emerald green robes.

Their eyes met. For a moment, energy coursed through her and then, he looked way. Slowly turning back toward the dead waters, Miles said nothing.

Without even realizing she was even doing it, she stepped forward. A delicate hand reached forward and laid itself upon his shoulder. She barely reached his chin and she felt tiny compared to him. He gazed at her in surprise and she did the same.

"Next time?" she said quietly.

"I cannot wait for next time," he whispered, clasping his hands behind his back. He had a strange fire blazing in his eyes. "This is my last year. I must prove myself."

"It's only the first game," she assured him. Why was she encouraging him? Making him feel better? Gryffindor hadn't lost the Quidditch Cup in twenty-some years. Now, their Chaser was encouraging their greatest rivals Captain.

"No one would be pleased to hear you say that," he chuckled. He turned fully in her direction and she backed away. Their proximity was much too close.

"I should probably go," Dominique said.

Miles nodded and picked up his broom. "Of course, as should I."

"Okay," said Dominique, but she didn't move.

"All right." He didn't move either- only smiled.

Dominique felt a funny feeling forming in her stomach and began her trek back to the castle quickly. As the trees rose over her head, she looked over her shoulder. Miles was stationary, watching her with a most peculiar expression on his face.

**December**

A whistle rang out, slicing into the day like a shrill bat. Dominique pulled on the end of her broom, coming to a sudden stop. James, who had been chasing her, nearly hit her, but swerved away just in time. They, Abigail, Louis, Fred, and Roxanne turned their attention to Clive, who was drifting over from the goalposts as he let his whistle fall back into place on his chest.

"Good practice team," Clive said. "I think you've earned yourselves the night off."

"After five bloody hours," muttered James angrily under his breath.

"What was that, Potter?" Clive barked.

"Nothing," said James. He descended to the ground quickly and dismounted his Tornado Rush.

"Thought not," said Clive.

The entire team hurried to the changing rooms and before long, were heading to the castle. They climbed the front steps, all looking forward to resting their tired limbs. Louis was the first to make it inside the castle.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he said. Dominique wondered who he was talking to, but soon saw. Albus, a second-year now, was by the marble staircase, bent over in pain. Louis and Dominique rushed over to Albus and Dominique dropped down beside him.

"I think it's his stomach," Albus's friend, Scorpius said.

"Maybe he needs to visit the loo," laughed James snidely as he and the rest of the walked past. Dominique gave him a scathing look as she tried to pick Albus up.

"We should take him to the infirmary," said Louis. "He might've eaten something bad." Dominique agreed and, followed by Louis and Albus's two friend, totted the boy off to the infirmary.

Once in Madam Pomfrey's domain, Dominique deposited her cousin onto a bed. Albus groaned. "Why, if it is not Dominique Weasley," said a voice from the next bed.

Dominique turned. Miles was lying on the bed, still clad in his Quidditch uniform. Slytherin had practiced before Gryffindor that day and the team had seen someone being carried away from the field. Now she knew who it was. His arm lay limply by his side and there was a bottle of Skele-Grow on his bedside table.

"If it isn't Miles Pucey," she said, blushing when he smiled. "What happened to your arm?"

"This?" he asked, gesturing to his damaged arm. "I broke it in Quidditch practice earlier and Nigel tried to fix it. It was not pretty, I will tell you that much."

"Warrington? He couldn't tell the right spell from the nose on his face," laughed Dominque. She realized what she had said and continued quickly, "No offense, of course."

Miles shook his head, amused. "No offense taken. He really is not all that bright, but I have known him since we were in our nappies. What has happened to your cousin, then? Albus, right?"

"Al, yeah," said Dominique, not able to even glance at her cousin. Her stomach was doing flips of its own. "He has a bit of a stomachache. Probably bad food, or so we think."

"Poor lad looks miserable," said Miles. Madam Pomfrey arrived and gave Albus some medicine, but Dominique's eyes were only on Miles.

"You are…flustered," said Miles. "Please, sit." Dominique did so. "You have been practicing, I assume?"

"Yeah, Quidditch," Dominique said breathlessly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling shyly. She could never talk to him right. Her voice would become soft or high-pitched and squeaky. She couldn't control herself.

He stared at the ceiling and they sat there quietly. Dominique's heart was pounding wildly in her chest. Why did he make her feel this way? She couldn't function right. It was all so strange.

"It's almost winter break," said Dominique shakily "Looking forward to it?"

"Oh, yes," Miles said. "My father has been invited to Germany by a friend and he is taking the entire family. My younger brother, Adrian, is quite looking forward to it. Are you doing anything over the holidays?"

"Nothing particularly interesting," said Dominique. "Just hanging out at the Burrow with the rest of the family; same old, same old."

"Ah," said Miles. They were very close together, so close that Dominique could see the little spot of brown in his left eye. He didn't blink and his eyes burned with…something. She could smell his minty breath and hear his slow, calm inhales and exhales.

They were…someone cleared their throat. Dominique jumped out of her chair and turned to Madam Pomfrey, who was looking at her with a raised eyebrow. Louis snickered beside her as Albus and his friends watched on.

"Sorry," said Dominique. "Having a conversation, very serious stuff…"

"I see," said Madam Pomfrey. "Mister Pucey needs his dose now."

"Yeah, right," said Dominique. She started moving away from the beds. "Well, see you lot later. I've got to go…" She rushed from the room, her entire body burning with embarrassment and a new feeling.

**January**

Dominique ran down the stairs of the Owlery, holding several packages. It was Rose's birthday today and Dominique had collected the entire family's gifts. Rose was going to get a surprise party.

Dominique's long legs were good for sprinting, but not for stopping. So it just happened that that fact was used against her when she came to the end of the staircase and crashed right into someone. All the packages flew out of her arms and she tumbled backward, falling with a hard, painful _thud _on the stone floor. The person stumbled, but held their own.

Dominique jumped to her feet. "I'm so sor…" she stopped. Miles smiled at her. Silently, he became picking up her packages. "I can get that," she said, whipping out her wand.

"No need," he said, holding out her things. She slipped her wand back into her pocket and took the packages, smiling sheepishly. They hadn't spoken since before Christmas break. Not as though they spoke much anyway.

"Thank you," she said, shifting self-consciously from one foot to the other. She looked a wreck today. Her robes were all rumpled, she had the beginnings of circles under her eyes, and her hair was all over the place. What with Quidditch, schoolwork, and planning Rose's party, Dominique hadn't gotten much sleep the past few days.

"You are quite welcome," said Miles. "May I ask what you are doing with all those packages?"

"Oh, my cousin's birthday," said Dominique. "Rose, she's turning thirteen today. I'm throwing her a surprise party."

"That is very kind," praised Miles. "I could help you take them to wherever it is you are throwing the party?"

"I…I'd like that," stuttered Dominique.

"Good. Just allow me to mail this letter." Miles hurried past her and up the stairs. She only waited a moment before he was back, taking half the pile. Dominique's arms lightened considerably. Taking the lead, Dominique made her way through the icy cold corridors.

Once they reached the seventh floor, Dominique glanced over her shoulder. Miles was observing the portraits and suits of armour in awe. She thought that was weird, until she realized that he may never have seen particular section of the school. This was Gryffindor territory and he was, after all, a Slytherin.

"Here it is." Dominique positioned the packages she was holding onto her hip as she pushed open the door.

There were two people in the room: Felicity James and Blanche Zephyrine, two Ravenclaws in seventh year and sixth year, respectively. As Dominique and Miles entered, they both looked over, and Felicity raised an eyebrow.

"Well, hello, Miles," said Felicity. She was in the process of hanging up decorations.

"Felicity," nodded Miles.

"I did not know zat you and Dominique were _mon amis_," said Blanche in her light French accent.

"I wouldn't say…" began Dominique.

"Why, we've been friends for months," said Miles. He set the packages on one of the tables.

"'Ow eenteresting," tweeted Blanche, beaming when Miles' back was turned. Dominique gave her a severe look and addressed Felicity.

"Everything almost ready?" she asked.

"As ready as it'll ever be," said Felicity. "That was the last bit. When's Rose going to be here?"

"Not for a few hours. You two can do whatever until the party starts." Felicity agreed and left the room, casting one last, almost amused, look at Dominique and Miles.

Blanche followed. "_Au revoir, Dominique et Miles_." She winked at Dominique as she shut the door. Dominique made a face at the door.

"It looks very nice," said Miles.

Dominique turned to him. "The decorations? Yeah, those two worked really hard."

"If that's what you want to think I meant," said Miles. His hands were in his pockets and he was leaning against one of the tables.

"What did you really mean?" questioned Dominique.

Miles cocked his head and a ghost of a grin flashed across his face. Taking his hands out his pockets, he pushed himself away from the table and walked over to Dominique. She had to lean her head back to see his face.

He brought one hand up slowly and brushed a strand of silvery-blonde out of her face. Her breath caught in her throat. Methodically, almost as if he had done it a million times, Miles ran a finger softly down her face, causing tingles where he touched her.

"Mi…" Before she could finish, he was kissing her. His hand circled to the back of her neck, pressing their lips together more completely.

She froze.

As if sensing something, Miles pulled away. "I am sorry."

"No…no, it's…" stuttered Dominique. She had a wonderful feeling blossoming in her chest, a lightness, but at the same time, she was confused.

She liked him, quite a lot. At the same time, she was torn. She was a Weasley, he was a Slytherin. Dad had always taught her to take people as they were, not care about differences like family or houses. Yet, it was hard to take into account when you had family members like Uncle Ron and Uncle George. They were good people, but they had a lot of prejudice. That was why Fred, Roxanne, and James were the way they were. They hated Slytherins…

She wanted to be happy, though. This was her first year without her sister, Victoire, at school, showing her little sister up. And here was a handsome seventh-year who was interested in Dominique for _her_ and not simply interested because she was Victoire's sister or one-eighth Veela.

"I…I need to think," said Dominique. What was she doing?

Miles nodded understandably and stepped away. "Yes, of course. I will leave you to that." He looked hurt. Dominique wanted to say something, but he nodded at her and left the room before she could untie her tongue.

**February**

"Domie!" Emily came up and flopped down on the couch beside Dominique. She was wearing her hair in several pony-tails that stuck up every which way today. "Domie, I'm tired of you sitting here. I've been thinking and you've totally been out of it since January. You haven't talked to Miles in over a month and frankly, you're being stupid."

Dominique closed her book and glared at her best friend. "I'm not being stupid."

"Yes," huffed Emily. "Yes, you are. You keep saying you want to _think_, but a month and a half is just too long. The boy likes you! You like him. Get over all this "I'm a Weasley, he's a Slytherin, it'd never work" junk already and date him. He's so into you, it's not even funny. And you've got to have figured he's a brilliant guy, because he's kept away all this time."

Dominique crossed her arms and didn't say anything.

"Oh, Merlin, you are so stubborn!" Emily threw up her arms. She jumped up from the couch and roughly pulled Dominique to her feet. Keeping a firm grip on Dominique's wrist, Emily began pulling her through the crowd of rowdy Gryffindors.

"Where are you taking me?" said Dominique. She was helpless against her friend, as she could not pull back. Once they made their way through, the other Gryffindors would mash themselves back together and it would be even more difficult getting back to the fireplace.

Emily pushed the portrait open and scrambled out of the hole. "Getting you a hot boyfriend," she said after they were in the empty corridor, the portrait of the Fat Lady closed behind them.

"Em, I told you…"

"I know what you told me," interrupted Emily. "I don't really care, though."

"Say he doesn't even like me anymore," said Dominique. Emily stopped and gave her a fierce look. "I'm just saying, maybe he hasn't talked to me is because I hurt his feeling and he just doesn't fancy me anymore."

"I don't think you'd be into a guy _that _shallow," said Emily. She grabbed Dominique and continued her pulling.

"I don't know, Em," said Dominique. "I can be pretty stupid."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Shut up, you."

***

Dominique held her breath. She and Emily were approaching the Quidditch pitch, where the Slytherins were supposed to be having practice, when they saw the snakes coming their way. It seemed practice has ended. As they got closer, the girls could see the suspicious looks on the Slytherins' faces, of the team and spectators. Except for Miles, that is.

Emily fell behind Dominique. The Slytherin Captain and the Weasley met in no man's land. His grey eyes were unsure. Dominique tried to say something, but not a word escaped her. They stared at one another a moment.

Dominique looked at the ground, then back at Miles. Finally, she smiled sheepishly. Miles' eyes began to twinkle and his eyes lit up. "Dominique…"

"Yes?" she whispered.

"Will you allow me the honor of taking you on a date to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Miles asked. The six other members of his team gasped in disbelief. Nerissa Selwyn, a girl in Dominique's year, frowned in disgust.

"I'd…like that," said Dominique. Emily squealed loudly behind her.

"Excellent," said Miles. "Oh, and do something for me?"

"What?"

"Don't grow your hair back out."

Dominique laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it."


	5. Ariana Ethaitrius: The Beginning of a Fr

**The Beginning**

Author: Ariana Ethaitrius

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: Hermione Granger/Sirius Black

-----

Hermione sat alone on the balcony at number twelve Grimauld Place. The music filled her ears; everyone was celebrating Christmas and the fact that Arthur Weasley was returned to them alive and healthy. The glass doors slid open and Hermione glanced around and she looked into the sunken eyes of Sirius Black. 'He doesn't want to join in the festivities? For what reason.' Hermione wondered silently as Sirius sat down on the chair to her left.

"Hermione." Sirius Black said in his deep voice.

"Sirius." Hermione said with a nod. "Why are you not enjoying Christmas inside?" Hermione asked aloud before she could stop herself.

"That was a question I was going to ask you." Sirius said, throwing her question back at her.

"Well, its Ron. He and Ginny are arguing; again and Ron expects me to – as always – take his side... I'm sick of their brother and sister squabbles; its driving me mad, so I had to get out and enjoy the sunshine."

"Aye... Dung is annoying Molly and I thought it best, if I stay out of her way..."

"Wise move." Hermione said. Sirius smiled; his dog-like bark filling the air. "You think so?" he asked with the grin still on his face.

"Yeah, I do." Hermione admitted. Sirius smiled.

"Care to dance?"

Hermione was startled, but he asked it in a gentleman like way it was difficult to refuse. "Uh... sure, why not; just as long s no one walks out and well..." Hermione left the sentence unfinished.

"Ah. They are all busy listening to Fred and George telling horrible jokes." Sirius said with a grimace.

"Hmm, that wouldn't surprise me." Hermione sniffed disaproovingly.

"So, would you like to dance?" Sirius repeated the question.

"I would." Hermione stood up and he placed one of her hands in his large one and his other hand around her waist. The music floated through the open back door and Hermione smiled to herself; this was the beginning to a new friendship.


	6. eSJa: Under the Hat

**Under the Hat  
**

Author: eSJa

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: Neville Longbottom

-----

"Longbottom, Neville!"

He winced as his named echoed through the crowded hall, sweaty palms clenched tight he stood rooted to the Great Hall floor feeling everyone's expectant eyes on him as furtive whispers filled the room.

"Aren't his parents famous or something, I know I heard that name before."

"Isn't that their son?"

"Hey, didn't You-Know-Who kill his parents?"

"He doesn't look like much does he; kinda tubby."

He closed his eyes trying to shut out their words. _It doesn't matter what they say. _

Neville pictured his parents standing right where he was years ago, they didn't know each other or what tragedy waited for them; just two more kids excited and anxious to be taught magic. He wondered if he was destined for the same outcome, thought of only in passing as a half remembered name that tickled the brain; if he was remembered at all but first he had to sit on that stool and put on the hat.

Opening his eyes he focused on the floppy, worn out grey hat that sat proudly on the stool. _I bet Gran has one just like that in a closet someplace._

With a deep breath he took a hesitant step forward and suddenly he was sitting on the stool as the hat fell around his ears and blocked the room from view.

"Ah, Longbottom, seems like just yesterday your parents were sitting here. Let's see. Kind like your mother, brave like you father. Intelligence, oh yes a good dose of brains, maybe Ravenclaw?" Spoke the hat into his ear.

Neville remembered listening to Gran muttering about his lack of magic while she puttered around the house; he sat outside in the garden trying as hard as he could to do something, anything of a magical nature even though it felt like she had already given up on him.

"No, not Ravenclaw that just doesn't quite fit."

He sat silently his stomach twisting and turning as he was Sorted, though it felt more like being judged.

"Loyal, hard working . . . Would fit well as a Hufflepuff . . . hmm."

_How does it know I am loyal? I've never really had a friend to be loyal to._

"Very little ambition, definitely not Slytherin, no not at all."

A brightly colored gum wrapper and a sad confused smile flashed through his mind. _Oh Mum._

"That's right; you were the other; He didn't choose you though did He? Things could have been much different for you Longbottom . . . I see, a quiet courage, tried and true friend to the end. Yes of course, perfect!"

"Gryffindor!" Roared the hat quickly followed by a responding cheer from his new House. Neville tugged the hat from his head and placed it on the stool as relief spread through him, turned and saw a group motioning him over, two tall gangly red head's the most prominent.

A sheepish grin on his face he stumbled to the table as multiple hands patted his back, ruffled his hair offering congratulations. For the first time Neville felt something like acceptance. _Mum, Dad I'll try to make you proud._


	7. StoryGirl02: Spun

**Spun  
**

Author: StoryGirl02

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: Lily Evans/Severus Snape

-----

It all starts to be spun at the tender age of eight, when they are children. Just like every other love stories it begins when they are young.

But unlike every other love story it _doesn't _end happily ever after.

But they won't know that for a while, _will _they.

And hopefully, maybe, the spindle won't unwind and tumble to the floor.

"Can I use this?"

The boy's voice breaks her out of her thoughts, the red-headed girl glancing up at him briefly. She shrugs, tightening her grasp on the chains of the swing.

"Sure," she reply, smiling softly at him. "Whatever."

She knows who he is of course, Tuney talks too much about the trash living down the road for her not to know. But he seems nice enough, polite enough to fit in with her family. His only downfall is his clothing and appearance, but she can see past that. Looks really don't _matter _when you are eight.

He returns the smile, sitting down and beginning to swing. The wind rushes through his long black hair, pushing it off his face so she can see his eyes. Black, so dark she cannot believe, dark like the night.

The pair swing in silence, pumping their legs back and forth to gain momentum against the swing. Her heavy braid thumps against her back in time with her heartbeat, and the boy swings softly, grubby hands around the chains.

There is a mark down his shirt, and a tiny hole in his too-long pants.

But apart from that, he is perfect.

She grins against the setting sun, legs flying up in the air, and back down again.

The park is their meeting place now, the place where he can escape from his family, and the only place Tuney doesn't like to come along to.

_She absolutely deists getting dirty. _

But it works out fine; they spend the spring days playing in the grass and the playground, sliding down the slides, chasing each other around the paddocks. She obtains more freckles than ever during those days, nearly every inch of her skin covered in pale spots. That is the one thing that annoys her about her colouring.

But she is too young to worry seriously about that. That will come later.

Severus is actually quite intelligent, for an eight year old. He stuns her with his conversation, and makes her feel quite dumb in comparison.

And some days she thinks, they would make quite the pair, the red-haired girl with the stunning green eyes and the black-haired boy with the darkest eyes possible. She almost wants to take him home and play house with him like she does with all of her other friends. But she doesn't, because he is not like her other friends.

He is different.

That makes her like him more than ever though.

"I can't believe you!" Petunia shouts, shaking her head wildly. She narrows her eyes down at Lily, taking in the mud slopped down her shirt messily and the way strands of her hair have fallen out of the tight ponytail their mother put it into this morning. "You're seriously going to let her play with that, that piece of _trash_!"

"Petunia," her mother scolds. "I'm sure the boy is very nice, regardless of his situation in life. Don't judge a book by its cover dear, you might be surprised about what you find underneath."

"So you two are going to let her?" Petunia questions, eyes wide. "Honestly, what will the rest of the street think? We do have a reputation, you know!"

"I'm not listening to you whine about this Petunia, not again," her mother says softly, sighing. "Lily will be playing with him whenever she wants, and if you see him on the street, you are to be nice, okay?"

"Fine, whatever." She waves the comment off with a hand, and with a toss of her hair, she stomps away.

Lily sighs, crossing the room to her father, who instantly opens his arms for a hug. She crawls onto his legs, shaking her head softly.

He places a kiss on top of her head. "Don't worry about your sister, Pumpkin," he tells her, smiling softly. "She'll come around."

"Soon, I hope," her mother says, stirring the meat in the pot on top of the stove slowly. "Honestly, the sooner she grows up, the better."

Petuina glares at her, eyes wild, from her spot on the stairs.

"Severus?" she calls, trying to block the summer sun out of her eyes unsuccessfully. Her dress flaps around her knees annoyingly, the pattern bright in her eyes. "Are you here?"

_Obviously not,_ she thinks.

This is the third time she has turned up to the park, to find that no one is here, that he isn't waiting for her by the swing like he normally does. It's annoying honestly, thinking that he will be here but turning up to an empty park, the swings creaking with the wind.

She wonders where he is sometimes, waits around for a while, but normally she just turns right back around and walks home, ignoring her mother's concerned look and stomping up to her shared bedroom.

On this very occasion, Petunia glares at her, looking up from painting her nails and snarls, rather like a dog, "He didn't show up again?"

Lily scowls at her, flopping onto her newly-made bed tiredly. "It's none of your business, alright, if he did or did not."

Petunia scoffs softly, returning to painting her nails pink. "Whatever," she says, blowing softly on them. "It's not like I even care about that gutter trash."

Lily sighs, closing her eyes and turning away to face the wall.

When she wakes up, Petunia is gone and tears wet her comforter.

The smell of nail-polish stays in her heart until the night.

On the day he returns to the park, he is limping slightly, and his face is bruised. She can hardly recognize him, his hair has been cut short messily, patches still long around the back. It looks like one of the bad home haircut her own mother used to give before she realized that they weren't that good, and took her too a proper hairdresser. One of his eyes is nearly closed up, and there is a deep scratch on his arm.

"What happened?" she asks, looking at him. He waves a hand, shrugging the comment away.

"I'll deal. I always do."

Lily scowls. "You shouldn't have to deal, not with this!" she exclaims, shaking her head. "Honestly, you can tell me. What happened to you, Sev?"

"My father lost money in a bet, went to the pub and got drunk, came home, and I argued with him," Severus explains, shrugging. "I suffered the consequences of my actions. End of story."

"He _beat _you?" she questions wildly, shaking her head. "Seriously?"

"It's nothing, really. The bruises will fade and my eye will get better. It happens."

"It shouldn't happen!" she shouts, standing up. "Fathers shouldn't beat their sons for something they didn't even cause!"

Severus shakes his head, rubbing his good eye. "Maybe in your world, Lil, but trust me, anything goes in Spinner's End. _Anything."_

"That's stupid," she mutters, sitting back down.

He sighs softly, smiling. "It's life. Get used to it, that what I say."

Spinner's End is a _whole world and time away. _

He is true to his word. Sure, soon enough, his bruises start fading and his eye goes back to normal. He is able to push her down the slide and run faster to the swings, but it takes time. Severus tries to deny it, but she can see from his slight limp and the fact that he has to pause to take a deep breath, that this beating will take longer to heal than the other.

But she doesn't mind.

It gives her a chance to practice playing nurse, after all. She's always wanted to be a nurse with the white dress and hat, and the way they glide around like angels, always smiling, always cheerful.

She wants to help people, craves it almost.

She nicks bandages and cream from the cabinet in the bathroom, and stuffs them underneath her wooly jumper. Severus goes home that day covered in white bandages, one around his arm, one on his leg, one covering half of his face. Splotches of half-dried cream are stuck to his skin.

Lily finds the bandages sitting on the only bench that hasn't been destroyed by vandals in the park the next day.

Smiling, she runs home to return them.

Somehow, someway, she's helped him.

The matter of how much is the only thing she is uncertain of. And for Lily Adrienne Evans, that is very unusual.

She's never uncertain.

_Never._

But then one day everything changes.

She's nearly eleven, and one day she returns from the park to find a letter sitting on the bench. She eyes it curiously, wiping her dirty, muddy hands on the front of her dress before handling the letter. Lily couldn't stand to sully the crisp, fresh whiteness of the envelope.

It has a red seal on the back, and she feels sad to even break it.

But she does, and she pulls the letter out.

Reads it, and promptly screams excitedly.

_Hogwarts, really? _

"I'm so glad you're coming with me," she murmurs, still grinning. "It really wouldn't be the same without you. I wouldn't know what to possibly do, for instance!"

He scoffs. "I think you'd be fine," Severus remarks. "I'm just going to be a burden to you. No one will want to befriend the one and only Lily Evans who could possibly associate with the lowly Severus Snape." He mock bows from his seated position, smirking sarcastically.

She slaps him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't be so mean to yourself!" she cries out, shaking her head softly. "You're fine, and you know that."

Severus scoffs softly, playing with the grass underneath his legs. "Your sister doesn't think so, in fact I rather think that she hates me."

"Tuney's silly, all she cares about is makeup, and boys. Don't worry about her, she wouldn't know a good person if you hit her in the face." She laughs quietly. "Look at the boy she's dating now! He's like a brick, honestly, very dumb."

"He could be your brother-in-law one day," he remarks calmly.

She pretend shudders. "God, I hope not!" she says, giggling. "I don't want to be related to that!"

Severus arches an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Oh, yes!" she replies, standing up. Brushing the dirt off of her knees, she shots him a coy look. "First one to the swings is the winner!" Lily darts away, legs pumping, already halfway there before he has a chance to stand up. She pokes her tongue out at him from her spot on the first swing, laughing.

"That wasn't fair," he remarks, walking over casually, hands in his pockets. "I didn't even have time to stand up, it wasn't a fair race."

"Only losers say that sort of things," she says, swinging happily, legs pumping back and forth. "And really, Sev?"

"Mmm?" He looks up from staring at the ground, his feet shuffling in the pieces of ripped up tree bark.

She grins cheekily at him, teeth flashing. "You'd better get used to it!" Her red hair flies back from her face, and she closes her eyes against the wind.

Severus shakes his head, resting it on the cool metal pole covered in scratches.

He never ever wants to experience the feeling of not being used to her, _you know?_


	8. xoxcrescentmoonxox: Battlecry

**Battlecry  
**

Author: xoxcrescentmoonxox

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: The Order of the Phoneix

XxX

Some said that the second Order of the Phoenix was over before it began …

"And so, Alastor," Dumbledore finished, looking gravely at the grizzly Auror, "I believe we have reason to formally re-adjourn the Order of the Phoenix."

Alastor smacked his lips together, the harsh noise resonating in the still of Dumbledore's office. Other than that small movement and the habitual whizzing of his artificial eye, he remained tense and moody for several seconds of a loaded silence.

"Do you think the time has not drawn near yet?" Dumbledore finally asked him softly.

"I think out best fighters are fifteen, sixteen years cold in our graves," Alastor said harshly, wooden leg clunking into his chair as he shifted position. "I think that without those damned kids who ran around crazy for the fight, falling in and out of love and war like it was the switching staircase, we're done before we begin."

"You should show your sentimental side more often," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Others might forget that it exists."

Alastor told him straight off, "It doesn't. That wasn't sentiment, it was logistics. They were the backbone of the war last time. And now that we're hard off again, none of them are around to set things to rights."

"_McKinnon!" Sirius screamed a split second too late, the desensitized last name coming out reflexively. He couldn't say Marlene, not when he knew her and the way she was on his team, pretend fighting a pretend war for pretend glory with pretend Gryffindor bravery, and who was dying? Not them, not the Phoenixes who lived each day to its fullest. _

_ Except Marlene was, because in the frozen moment after the curse and before Sirius regained the presence of mind to raise his wand and _maim_, she fell. Down, down, down, as the moment stretched into an eternity of not being in time to save her. The light faded from her eyes; her hair rippled around her face; the ground flew up to meet her. _

_ And Marlene was gone, and the war was suddenly, excruciatingly real. _

"There will always be fighters for our cause," Dumbledore replied gravely. "Three Weasley boys are of age; the Macmillans have a group of cousins in their twenties; there's Amelia Bones' oldest niece; and of course you know Andromeda and Ted's daughter."

A fond smile—for Alastor—crossed his face. "No one in their right mind would want Nymphadora Tonks on their fighting team. Might as well send her over with the Death Eaters, get her to either kill them with good intentions or with an accidentally placed umbrella stand."

"And yet," Dumbledore murmured, "She has all the heart in the world."

"A lot of people have heart and can't fight for anything," Alastor snarled, harsher than he had to. "Tonks is lucky she's still alive."

_Benjy Fenwick stumbled out of the Hogshead Pub, bleary eyed and hardly able to stand. War was different when it became like this, fought in dark alleys with trickery and stealth instead of the way they learned it in Auror training, the honorable way in an open duel. It was easier to drown his sorrows in liquor and in bar fights that didn't mean anything than fighting for a cause he wasn't sure if he believed in anymore. What was the use of being on the good side if you still fought like the bad side?_

_ Guard down, senses fuzzy, the chesty female appearing beside him didn't inspire instant recognition as Bellatrix Black would once have. She was pretty in a lethal way, he thought hazily, and then she was on him in the shadiest alley across from the Hogshead and he didn't have a chance. _

_ He was found miles away from there, hacked into tiny pieces, unrecognizable but for the scraps of an Auror badge that verified that Benjy Fenwick was once an honorable man. _

"Sometimes, Alastor," Dumbledore mused, "A little luck goes further than any skill."

Alastor snorted and muttered, "Only for you, Albus. Maybe in your world heart and luck make a man, but you've never been in the Auror corps. You don't know how easy it is to die." Realizing he may have overstepped his bounds a little, he grumbled, "Not the way I do, anyway."

"I know." Dumbledore was earnest as he met Alastor's eyes. "Which is why I want you to command the fighting troops of the Order of the Phoenix."

Alastor couldn't answer right away. There was no reason why he wasn't the best man for the job; he knew that. He was the most experienced Auror out there, even in retirement. And if he had the opportunity to save people like he'd tried to so many times the first time round, then he shouldn't say no. He couldn't. It just wasn't _right_.

_"No!" Shrieking, bloody, Lily cradled her husband's head in her lap, brandishing her wand at the growing ring of Death Eaters. "I won't leave the two of you."_

_ "GO!" Gideon roared. He sent one of their enemies crashing, Stunned, to the ground, but another instantly stepped up to take his place. "You and Potter are only a causality now." _

_ She glared hatefully at him, but Gideon could see the acceptance in her eyes. What he said was the bitter, deadly truth. _

_ "Good luck," Lily said softly in a momentary lull of spells, gathering up her wand to Apparate. _

_ "GO!" Fabian cried, an echo of his brother as they closed protectively around the Potters. _

_ Lily Side-Alonged her husband away as the twins, in her last vision of them, ducked through and against jets of light that whirl around them. Red hair glowing all colors amid the curses, they didn't look like they were dying—they looked vividly alive, in the way only Gideon and Fabian could._

_ Still, die they did, valiantly and powerfully in one of the finest last stands that has ever gone unnoticed in history. _

Alastor was silent for a long time. It was taking advantage of Dumbledore's nature that let people figure things out for themselves, he knew, to not say a word and let the older wizard think what he would. But he had spent his life fighting for a cause that never ceased. People always had to be protected. Enemies were everywhere. He had just spent the year hidden in his own trunk while an impostor taught a generation of Hogwarts students in his name. In a way, he would be getting revenge on Barty Crouch, Jr.

But that didn't matter; Alastor didn't give a damn about revenge, not compared to out and out victory.

He had no doubt that it would take something far greater than constant vigilance to bring down He Who Must Not Be Named. No, it wouldn't be Alastor Moody who would fire the final spell to end the Dark Lord's life. But Lily Potter's boy had ended the war last time, and if there was any way to help him win again, then the matter didn't take any more thought.

Alastor Moody would fight.

_The war was over when Alice Longbottom went insane. She and Frank and Neville were mourning Lily and James, thinking of Harry, and celebrating bittersweet victory. Several of their wards had been disemployed, and even though several were still up, it obviously wasn't the right several, because Bella Lestrange and her cruel husband and his twisted brother and their miserable little protégé crashed into the house one day, while young Neville was at his grandmother's and Frank was in the garden._

_ It was a blessing that Neville had gone already, and it was a curse that ended Alice Longbottom's conscious life and sent her spiraling into a world where up was down and sideways was normal and nothing existed but white hallways and voices in her head that pleaded with her in languages she never did understand. Crucio; that was her last thought, one that mingled with Frank's pleas to let her go, his wracking cries that he loved her, the torment of shouts of pain, hers or his or the miserable protégé's, Alice would never know._

_ One moment she was a woman, a mother, a fighter, a wife. And the next she was the shell of a person, half cracked and breakable._

Another war began when Alastor Moody nodded his head _yes_ to Albus Dumbledore. _Yes _he would lead, _yes _he would fight, _yes _he would win or go to his grave valiantly, trying. This war would be guerilla warfare; dishonest, sneaky, to the death. This war would be headed by Albus Dumbledore, and beneath him would be Mad-Eye Moody, pulling the strings on the battlefield.

Odds were, it would be bloody as last time. There would be heedless Marlenes, honorable Benjys, brothers who fought and fell, and the most unforgivable breeds of torture. But there would be _Don't call me Nymphadora!_ Tonks, stalwart Bill and bold Charlie Weasley, and a slew of others behind the war as well; brave young people ready to uphold wizarding society or die in the attempt, following the legacy that the First Order had left.

And though Alastor Moody wouldn't even be able to collect those thoughts coherently, let alone express them, let alone _want_ to, he had still been a part of that first group of fighters. They had been a part of him; still were. And it would be them, their memory, their living legacy that would lead this new Order out of the shadows, a flaming Phoenix to bring the Dark Lord down.


	9. Love From a Muggle: Beginnings End

**Beginnings End  
**

Author: Love from a Muggle

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: Draco Malfoy

XxX

There he stood in front of Crabbe's grave. He looked up at the sky as it started crying. Rain fell to the ground lightly as the clouds moved in. Draco thought even the weather felt miserable due to the funeral. Draco watched the beginning of an end; He knew that this wizard funeral would be the last time he would see some of his fellow students at the Wizard Funeral.

Draco forgot who he really was for a fraction of a second when she turned, bushy brown hair and all, stopped, and smiled at him. He noticed her posture. She wasn't acting cold towards him as he knew the others would, but she was acting somewhat friendly. A single smile can go along way. The others slowly turned around out of curiosity to see why she had stopped and who she was looking at. A tight feeling in his chest in his heart made Draco ache. What was this feeling? He knew part of it was sympathy, knew it all too well. But the other feeling. A sort of longing. Draco knew he was jealous of what they had. Sure, he was rich, but money couldn't buy him happiness. That was always something he longed for. The days when the Dark Lord ruled his house had made Draco very miserable. He shuddered and pushed those thoughts to the darkest part of his mind. Never wanting to go back to them

The others' reaction was more what he was expecting Not as friendly as Hermione. Ron tensed up, clenching his fists at the sides of his long lanky body. He knew Ron still hated him and knew that wasn't going to change. He did feel slightly sorry for Ron after losing a brother. The freckle faced Ginny Weasley gave him a warmer look.

Draco knew he wouldn't be standing there at this very moment if it weren't for the brave students standing feet in front of him. Harry Potter turned around last, and started walking away from his group, stood inches in front of Draco. Harry then outstretched his hand expecting Draco to shake it. Out of habit, out of habit someone shook hands with him, Draco shook Harry's hand back, lingering for a moment. It was as if time stopped alltogether . Two enemies became one for a fraction of a second. They let go with Harry wiping his hands on his jeans as if he were wiping away a germ. Ron came towards them as the girls watched in the distance.

"Just remember you wouldn't be here if it weren't for us," he gritted through his teeth. Draco could see his hand hovering near his pocket, in case he needed to pull out his wand in a hurry.

"I knew you would say that Weasel," Draco eyed Ron's hand, hovering near his pocket. This time, no fight broke out. Ron just glared at him. "Still think you need your wand around me for protection? Some people don't change," Draco breathed out before he could stop himself. Ron flinched, launched at Draco, but Harry got in the way holding him back glaring at Ron.

"No, Ron don't you think we've done enough fighting with him? He isn't worth it," Harry looked back at Draco.

"What's going on?" Hermione and Ginny came over together at the same time, both eying the hero and the villain.

"Ron's wanting to beat up Malfoy like always, I think we need to put it behind us and move on. " Harry stated looking at his friends. They all looked shocked at that. He turned towards Draco "You turned out alright, for a coward,"

"You're not too bad yourself, Potter," Draco stated placing his arms against his chest.

"Since when are you friendly with him?" Ron grumbled, and sounding a little hurt.

"Who said anything about being friends? Your just watching the start of a new beginning, Still enemies, but with a touch of something new," Harry turned on Ron. Hermione looked at Ginny and then at Draco.

"I suppose you're right Harry, We need to move on. We can't carry on old feuds forever?" Hermione suggested. Draco looked at Hermione. This was coming from a girl who punched him their third year. He hasn't forgotten about that, and wondered if she remembered. Draco's mother walked up at that moment interrupting the conversation.

"Come on Draco. Time to go," She said sweetly as she placed her hand on her son's shoulder. The firm grip told him she did not like his company.

"See you around Potter," Draco stated. He stood for a moment as his mother walked off towards his father. The others looked at him, and turned around and headed in the opposite direction. Hermione put her arms around Ron in an attempt to make him less tense. As she had before had spoken, Hermione turned, looked at him and smiled. Draco knew things would be different, good, but different.


	10. Wendy Brune: Rebirth

**Rebirth  
**

Author: Wendy Brune

Fandom: Harry Potter

Claim: The Burrow

_It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added her and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic…. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron._

**xxx**_  
_

You started out so hopeful and so promising. Oh, the possibilities of your final creation! You would often lie there at night, waiting for the construction work to resume, daydreaming of your future. Maybe you would be a manor house for a noble Lord and his family; maybe you would be a castle for the King of the land. Wouldn't it be wonderful to feel clothed in tapestries on every wall, to hear the secrets of the family around you? Oh, you would hear so many splendid and important whispers – of wars and weddings, of peasants and princes. Destined for great things, you decided, and so you waited. How ignorant you were back then.

Your craftsman laid your stones carefully, smoothing the mortar delicately like a baker ices his prize winning cake; every rock managed to weave together, and suddenly you were more than just a foundation – you were a building. No longer did you exist solely as poorly-scrawled plans on a rudimentary blueprint. You were whole.

As the craftsman brushed the dirt off his hands, you began to take inventory. You felt so small, with no windows and a simple thatched roof. Your floor was dirt – dirt! – and you had no door. Where were the sprawling ballrooms? Where was the kitchen, the Lord's bedroom, and the nursery? Surely he wasn't finished; surely this was just the base room. There was more he needed to build - there _had_ to be more.

As you sat, waiting, watching other, grander buildings develop around you, you began to let your ideals slip. You didn't _need_ to be a Lord's mansion. Weren't castles really rather drafty, anyway? You wouldn't mind being a simple farmhouse, because anything had to be better than a windowless shack. You wanted lights; you wanted life. You wanted a purpose.

But you were never meant to house a noble family, and you didn't even get that farmer you began compromising for. You were the lowest of the low – a pigpen. The beasts appeared seemingly overnight, and oh, how your tenants smelled! They ruined your perfectly clean walls; the shiny, smooth stones became covered in dung and mud, slowly beginning to erode away to dust. You were never destined for greatness: your fate lay in the dirty scrounges of the beast.

Years (decades? centuries? time began to lose all meaning) later, your vile tenants left as suddenly as they appeared, and you were alone again; but beast and bout left their respective marks, and you resembled nothing of that blithe and benighted structure you once were. Stones lay strewn across the ground, knocked from their deliberated places. You were crumbling to the ground, and your world was tumbling around you in shambles. _You_ were shambles, and as time left you behind, so did the human race. You begin to tune out the earth around you, no longer caring to notice your surroundings. Houses aren't meant to last forever, and you're only waiting for Mother Nature to take her course and destroy you once and for all.

"_It's…it's perfect, Arthur," _you hear one day, but you neglect to notice just who has the audacity to utter such a phrase. You are far from perfect – you are a disaster, one that should be eradicated, just like the others from your time. (Isn't it perfectly ironic how those grand manor houses fail to exist to this day, and yet a fiend like you manages to cling to the life you don't want?) People have inspected you before, but they never stay. Why would they? You are nothing but ruins; even in your glory days, you were too lowly for any type of family, never mind the grand sort.

"_It's home, Molly-wobbles__. We've found our home."_

Despite your cynicism, magical construction starts, and the humans stay. That kitchen you were reckoning on appears, and then the master bedroom and even a single nursery. You can resist all you want, but it is all for naught. You have found your rebirth.

**xxx**

"_It's not much," said Ron._

"_It's _wonderful," _said Harry happily…._

_

* * *

_

_Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, _J.K. Rowling; Pg. 32, American Scholastic Press Edition, 1999


End file.
